Ruby’s for a cup of joe and a bite to eat.
And thank goodness for it, or she wasn’t sure what she’d be doing with her life. Painting was something she enjoyed. But she’d realized a long time ago that it didn’t feed her soul the way running Ruby’s did.
She smiled to herself. She fed others to feed herself.
“What’re you sitting there grinning about?” Justin slid into the bench opposite her.
She looked at him over the screen of the laptop and only smiled a little wider. She couldn’t help it.
It was Saturday. Her bookkeeping was done, and it felt like all was right with the world. “Snow,” she answered him. “Weatherman’s calling for it by tonight.”
He shook his head. “I talked to my uncle Matt this morning. He said it wasn’t coming yet. And you know his nose for snow.”
She wasn’t going to let him rain on her parade. “Well, maybe the famous Matthew Clay nose will be wrong for once. It could happen.”
“Anything could happen,” he allowed. “But it won’t snow yet. Not today.”
She closed the laptop and tucked the checks to be signed into a folder. “Usually by the beginning of December we’ve had at least one snow. Even if it doesn’t stick. But not this year. Did you come in for breakfast?”
“What else?”
She smiled through the sting. It was silliness in the extreme to entertain the idea he might have come to see her . Particularly when he was staying two doors away from her. “As long as you’re not wanting pulled pork barbecue for breakfast, you’re in the right place.” She slid out of the booth. “What’ll it be?”
“Pancakes and sausage.”
“Turkey or regular?”
He looked surprised. “You serve turkey sausage now?”
“Gotta change with the times,” she drawled. “We even have a quinoa salad and cucumber water. The mayor’s wife is partial to both. So what’ll it be?”
“Regular.”
“Coming up.” She went over to the counter to give Bubba the order. The other waitresses were all busy, so she started a fresh pot of coffee in the brewer and carried the carafe back to fill Justin’s mug.
He’d flipped open her folder of checks and was fanning through them. “They’re not signed.”
“Erik signs them.”
She moved to the next table, holding up the carafe. “Refills for you?” Both young men—she was pretty sure they worked out at Cee-Vid—pushed their empty mugs toward her. She filled them and continued around the diner, greeting and filling until the carafe was empty and she moved the freshly full one onto a warmer and started another pot. She’d barely finished that when the delivery truck came with a package. She signed for it and peeked inside, recognizing the custom-made storybook she’d ordered for Hannah for Christmas, and stored it in her locker in the kitchen. Then she delivered Justin’s pancakes to him, along with a little pitcher of warm maple syrup.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah.” He stuck the checks back in the folder and gestured at the empty bench across from him. “Sit. I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays.”
She sat. “This isn’t work.”
He snorted softly. “Most people would disagree. Want a pancake?” He lifted the edge of the one on top of his stack.
“Nope.”
He let the edge down and dumped the entire pitcher of syrup on top. “Why don’t you sign the checks?”
“Because I’m not on the bank account. No reason to be.” Neither was he, but only because he hadn’t been around to add his name to the account when Erik had changed banks several years ago.
“You should be.” He took a mammoth-size bite of syrup-drenched pancake and gestured slightly with his fork. “You take care of everything else around here. What happens if Erik’s not around to sign a check and you need money for something?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I’ve got petty cash. It’s a system that’s been working for a lot of years. Why are you suddenly so interested?”
He shrugged and attacked his
And thank goodness for it, or she wasn’t sure what she’d be doing with her life. Painting was something she enjoyed. But she’d realized a long time ago that it didn’t feed her soul the way running Ruby’s did.
She smiled to herself. She fed others to feed herself.
“What’re you sitting there grinning about?” Justin slid into the bench opposite her.
She looked at him over the screen of the laptop and only smiled a little wider. She couldn’t help it.
It was Saturday. Her bookkeeping was done, and it felt like all was right with the world. “Snow,” she answered him. “Weatherman’s calling for it by tonight.”
He shook his head. “I talked to my uncle Matt this morning. He said it wasn’t coming yet. And you know his nose for snow.”
She wasn’t going to let him rain on her parade. “Well, maybe the famous Matthew Clay nose will be wrong for once. It could happen.”
“Anything could happen,” he allowed. “But it won’t snow yet. Not today.”
She closed the laptop and tucked the checks to be signed into a folder. “Usually by the beginning of December we’ve had at least one snow. Even if it doesn’t stick. But not this year. Did you come in for breakfast?”
“What else?”
She smiled through the sting. It was silliness in the extreme to entertain the idea he might have come to see her . Particularly when he was staying two doors away from her. “As long as you’re not wanting pulled pork barbecue for breakfast, you’re in the right place.” She slid out of the booth. “What’ll it be?”
“Pancakes and sausage.”
“Turkey or regular?”
He looked surprised. “You serve turkey sausage now?”
“Gotta change with the times,” she drawled. “We even have a quinoa salad and cucumber water. The mayor’s wife is partial to both. So what’ll it be?”
“Regular.”
“Coming up.” She went over to the counter to give Bubba the order. The other waitresses were all busy, so she started a fresh pot of coffee in the brewer and carried the carafe back to fill Justin’s mug.
He’d flipped open her folder of checks and was fanning through them. “They’re not signed.”
“Erik signs them.”
She moved to the next table, holding up the carafe. “Refills for you?” Both young men—she was pretty sure they worked out at Cee-Vid—pushed their empty mugs toward her. She filled them and continued around the diner, greeting and filling until the carafe was empty and she moved the freshly full one onto a warmer and started another pot. She’d barely finished that when the delivery truck came with a package. She signed for it and peeked inside, recognizing the custom-made storybook she’d ordered for Hannah for Christmas, and stored it in her locker in the kitchen. Then she delivered Justin’s pancakes to him, along with a little pitcher of warm maple syrup.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah.” He stuck the checks back in the folder and gestured at the empty bench across from him. “Sit. I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays.”
She sat. “This isn’t work.”
He snorted softly. “Most people would disagree. Want a pancake?” He lifted the edge of the one on top of his stack.
“Nope.”
He let the edge down and dumped the entire pitcher of syrup on top. “Why don’t you sign the checks?”
“Because I’m not on the bank account. No reason to be.” Neither was he, but only because he hadn’t been around to add his name to the account when Erik had changed banks several years ago.
“You should be.” He took a mammoth-size bite of syrup-drenched pancake and gestured slightly with his fork. “You take care of everything else around here. What happens if Erik’s not around to sign a check and you need money for something?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I’ve got petty cash. It’s a system that’s been working for a lot of years. Why are you suddenly so interested?”
He shrugged and attacked his
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